


look up (rain is falling, looks like love)

by wyrm_boy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Luna Lovegood, Bisexual Ginny Weasley, Communication, Consent, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Not Epilogue Compliant, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Slow Burn, there will be sex eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-04-14 20:52:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14144322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyrm_boy/pseuds/wyrm_boy
Summary: Later, Ginny would realize that somewhere between kissing Harry in her bedroom at the Burrow and watching him do what she’d always known he’d do - end Voldemort’s life for good - she’d fallen out of love with him. Or maybe those weren’t the right words, in love, because it was more that she realized she’d outgrown him, or grown past him, or rather grown beyond the girl who needed that boy, the boy who’d saved her life and who she’d started out seeing as a hero. And when he really was a hero, the hero they all needed, she found out she didn’t need him anymore, not for herself.She’s not a girl who needs a hero.She’s a warrior, and she needs somebody else.But that’s later.....How Ginny Weasley grew up, came out, and fell in love.





	1. you're cold, maybe you just miss the sun

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this work and for each chapter come from "Look Up" by Stars.

Later, Ginny would realize that somewhere between kissing Harry in her bedroom at the Burrow and watching him do what she’d always known he’d do - end Voldemort’s life for good - she’d fallen out of love with him. Or maybe those weren’t the right words, in love, because it was more that she realized she’d outgrown him, or grown past him, or rather grown beyond the girl who needed that boy, the boy who’d saved her life and who she’d started out seeing as a hero. And when he really was a hero, the hero they all needed, she found out she didn’t need him anymore, not for herself.

She’s not a girl who needs a hero.

She’s a warrior, and she needs somebody else.

But that’s later. 

 

....

Now, she’s sitting back in her room, wondering what shape her life will take now, now that Harry is free and Voldemort is dead, but so are Fred, and Remus, and Tonks. Wondering what she really wants. What to do now.

“Ginny.”

She jerks out of her reverie and turns. “Hm?”

“It’s time to go,” Luna says in her calm way. 

“Sorry,” Ginny says, shaking herself. They are sitting on her small bed, Ginny leaning against the wall at one end, and Luna curled up at the other.

“Don’t apologize, Ginny. You were wondering something important.”

“How could you tell?”

“You get this funny little crease, just here,” Luna says and, leaning forward, reaches out and touches Ginny gently between her eyebrows with the tip of one slender finger. Ginny feels the coolness of her skin for just a moment, and closes her eyes. 

June light streams into the room, making starbursts in her closed lids. Ginny opens her eyes, looking at Luna. 

“What do we do now, Luna?”

“Well, I should think by going downstairs.”

“You know what I mean,” Ginny says, but without rancor. 

“I know,” Luna smiles, and it’s less vague than Ginny remembers it, but no less sweet. Maybe someday Luna will tell her about her time as a hostage, trapped in the dark of the Malfoys’ cellar with Ollivander, but she hasn’t yet. Ginny isn't sure she's ready to hear it. 

Ginny waits, waits for Luna to answer, but Luna doesn’t. Instead, she stands up, and offers her hands, that smile still hovering about her lips. 

After she’s hauled Ginny gently to her feet, she leads her down the stairs, where the rest of the family is gathered, waiting to go back to Hogwarts. 

For the funeral. 

....

Ginny remembers Dumbledore’s funeral, with crowds of people, students and ministry officials, all gathered beside the lake. She remembers the pristine landscape, the beautiful old castle and the incongruity of the lovely summer day. And knowing that Harry was going to tell her he was leaving. She remembers feeling a bit guilty that she felt more worried for the future than sad that Dumbledore had died. 

Today isn’t like that. Even though the work to restore Hogwarts to anything like its former state has already begun, the blasted castle looms over the place they had all gathered for the funeral- the funeral of everyone who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. Today, Ginny isn’t worried for the future. Like the devastated silhouette of the familiar building, her grief looms over everything. She feels like she’s frozen in amber, like loss has trapped her in place. The sea of people seems unreal, and even people she knows seem alien and strange. 

“Ginny.”

She feels a hand touch hers, and then grab it gently, and she begins to obey its pressure without really thinking, only realizing after she starts to walk after her mother toward their seats that it’s Luna. She doesn’t recognize herself, this lost person she’s become, but Luna’s hand feels like a lifeline, so she allows herself to be guided into a seat beside her Dad.

Further along the lakeshore, Dumbledore’s white tomb is surrounded by a forest of smaller white stones- the graves of everyone who died at the Battle. She had been glad that Fred would be buried at Hogwarts, a place he had loved and had died fighting for, and that next year she could visit him, and Remus, and Tonks whenever she liked. And that even if the castle was rebuilt, as beautiful and whole as before, that the grounds would be marked forever by the war. 

Kingsley's speaking, eulogizing the dead, talking about their bravery and their sacrifice, but the words break over her like waves without really meaning anything. She feels the wind blow her hair into her eyes and looks down the row of chairs at her family.   
Harry had resisted the Ministry’s attempts to place him front and center and was sitting instead next to Ron and Hermione, in the middle of a row of Weasleys. She looked away before she caught his eye. She knows that she and Harry have to talk, but she doesn’t know what to say. She spent so much time hoping for him to come back to her; for him to be still alive; for the war to be over, for things to be the way they were even though she knew they couldn’t. But she couldn’t afford to hope too much, and she got through the long weeks of war by throwing herself into leading the resistance. Her world narrowed to within the walls of Hogwarts. It was easier than wondering where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were now, and whether they were still alive, or whether her father had been arrested yet, or if the Order had fallen to Voldemort.   
Or whether Luna was alright. 

Now it’s over, and she’s at a loss. She doesn’t know what she wants anymore, or who she’s supposed to be now.


	2. Chapter 2 - Your boy is like a memory

That summer passes in a haze of grief. Harry’s over a lot and so is Hermione, still spending nearly all of their time together even after their long year in a tent. At first, she dreaded the inevitable conversation they would have. She was sure he would make his way to her bedroom, where he had been only once before, or find her out in the garden, places she often went to be away from everyone. But the summer slipped away, and Harry didn’t seek her out. It wasn’t as though he was avoiding her, but it was odd. The tension between them, the unresolved attraction and hurt feelings, had almost evaporated, leaving only a sort of uneasiness in its wake. 

It isn’t what she had expected. 

It’s Harry’s eighteenth birthday. He had asked that they didn’t have a party, but Ginny’s Mum had insisted on a nice dinner, at least. Just a few people. He acquiesces, but Ginny thinks it's because he doesn't want to upset Molly. Ginny happens upon Harry, sitting on the back stoop, watching the gnomes tease the chickens. He looks up at her approach and smiles at her. It’s genuine, but there’s tightness around his eyes she doesn’t like. 

“Hi,” she says, and sits next to him. “Did Mum toss you out of the kitchen?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Told me I was in the way.”

“Harry,” she says, “can we talk?”

He tenses immediately, and she doesn’t know why. But then he nods. 

“Okay.”

“Come, let’s go,” Ginny says, instinctively avoiding the echoes of that day, one year ago, when she invited him into her room in one last desperate attempt to stop him leaving her, leaving her with nothing. Instead, she leads him across the garden and over to a stand of trees near the crumbling wall. She sits with her back against a tree, and Harry drops to the ground beside her, more slowly than he usually moves. She waits for him, to see if he wants to say anything, but he simply sits, playing with the grass and not looking at her. 

And now that she has him here, and has worked up the nerve to have this conversation, she isn’t sure how to begin. As she’s searching for the words, he finally looks up and says,

“What’s up, Gin?”

“It’s just,” she says, suddenly angry with herself for being so hesitant, with him for leaving her hanging, “we haven’t talked since the Battle. Since you got back. And, well, I thought we should talk.”

“I’m sorry, Ginny. I just haven’t known what to say,” he says, and he looks so tired. As tired as she feels. “What do you want to know?”

“I just–“ she says, frustrated with them both. When had this become so hard? “You used to tell me things, you know? We used to talk, Harry!”

“Yeah, I know we did,” he says, not showing a hint of the temper she could feel rising in her. Why was she angry? “I’m sorry.”

Why did he keep saying sorry? As though that was enough, or meant anything? She doesn’t want him to be sorry. She wants him to– she doesn’t know what she wants. The silence grows and grows, and starts to harden. She starts to wonder if this is how they are now. Maybe they’re just nothing.

“I don’t think I can be what you want, Ginny,” he says finally. And that stokes the anger inside her into boiling over. 

“And what do you think I want, Harry?” she says, almost shouting. “What do you know about what I want? You never asked me, did you? You just left! And now you’re back, and you still haven’t asked me! You’re just making the same damn assumptions! And you know what, Harry, maybe you should consider that I don’t actually want anything from you but for us to be fucking human beings together. Maybe I fucking care about you, and want to know you’re okay.” The words are spilling out of her and now that they are, she can’t seem to stop them. “Maybe this isn’t all about you! Maybe I want you to ask me about how shite my year was, what it was like to be stuck at Hogwarts and not knowing if my family or my friends were alive or dead. What it was like to have my best friend kidnapped and held hostage in a fucking cellar!”

Harry’s green eyes widen, and he looks stricken. But she goes on, not letting him stop her or god forbid apologize again. 

“You know what, Harry? I don’t know what I want from you anymore. I used to think– I don’t know, that we were going to get married, and that it would be perfect. I was a bloody child then. Just, I dunno, fucking assume. Can we just talk, and be friends again, and not put so much bloody pressure on?”

“Okay,” he says, so quietly that she might have missed it. 

“Okay?” And just as quickly as it had come, she can feel her anger draining out of her, leaving exhaustion in its wake. 

“I can do that, Gin. I can try, anyway,” he smiles a bit, and it even reaches his eyes. “I know you went through a lot, too. I guess I just– things look differnt now, since… you know?”

Since you died. 

It hangs in the air between them, but neither of them says it. 

“Harry, Ginny?” Luna is walking toward them across the garden. 

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Ginny says, feeling her face crease in a smile (has she really been smiling little enough that it feels like this?). 

“Harry invited me,” Luna says, smiling back at her. “And Nev. Happy birthday, Harry.”

“Thanks, Luna,” Harry says. He’s looking between them with an odd look on his face. “I suppose you’ve come to collect us.”

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley says dinner’s nearly ready. And everyone’s arriving.”

“Alright,” Harry says. He picks himself up off the ground, and then offers his hand to Ginny. “Coming, Gin?”

She takes it. His hands are warm and square, the way they always have, and they still have Quidditch calluses even though he hasn’t played in ages. She’s pleased to feel nothing more than affection at their familiarity. Maybe they can be friends now. 

She follows Luna and Harry, who are chatting gently about the garden gnomes, back to the house.


End file.
